


Sammy Likes To Kill

by PessoasLily



Series: Crossroads [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Serial Killers, Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Blood and Gore, Bottom Dean Winchester/Top Sam Winchester, Evil Sam Winchester, First Time, Harm to Animals, Harm to Children, M/M, Minor Character Death, Murder, No actual Sam and Jess, Real places/fictional murders, Serial Killer Sam, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-18
Updated: 2017-04-18
Packaged: 2018-10-20 12:08:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10662279
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PessoasLily/pseuds/PessoasLily
Summary: Sammy likes to kill. Dean is trying to figure out how he fits in Sammy's world.





	Sammy Likes To Kill

**Author's Note:**

> This is dark, violent, bloody and fucked up.

It took Dean a while to figure out Sammy was killing stuff. The increase in missing pet posters in and around the towns they stayed in wasn't on his radar. Dean worried about monsters, not lost pets. If Sammy hadn’t kept trophies, Dean might have never known.

It was Dean's turn to do the laundry and he was tucking Sammy's things in his duffel when he found the stack of flyers. There were a couple dozen of them, mostly cats, though there were a handful of small dogs. Sammy liked large dogs, once said they’d make good protection if properly trained.

When Dean asked him about the flyers, Sammy just shrugged and said it was for research, though what he didn’t say. Sammy grabbed the flyers, stuffed them back in his duffel, and returned to sharpening his knife.

Dean let it go but promised himself he'd keep an eye out for missing posters in the future.

He never imagined he’d need to look out for missing kids.

They were staying in a rundown rental on the outskirts of Joplin, Missouri when news of a missing 15 year old boy started popping up on TV, radio, and missing persons flyers. The boy, Derek Mason, was a schoolmate of Sammy’s. Dean asked him if he knew him and Sammy once again shrugged and said, “I did.” Dean didn't miss the past tense of Sammy’s response. Three weeks after Derek went missing they found his body in a storm drain, his throat slashed and eyes gouged out.

From what Dean could tell from the stolen coroner’s report, the boy had been bound and beaten, eyes removed perimortem. Dean searched Sammy’s duffel when he was in the bathroom and found a lock of brown hair in a hex bag dad had made them to ward off evil spirits.

Dean ignored the irony, returned the hair to the hex bag, and never said a word. Three days later dad returned and they left Joplin, the murder of Derek Mason behind them.

The next time Dean suspected Sammy of murder they were staying in a motel in Bozeman, Montana. Their dad had left 16 year old Sammy with Dean while he went to hunt a rougarou. 

Everything was going well until reports of two missing teenage girls hit the news. The sisters, Catherine and Kelly Wright, were last seen jogging in Cooper Park, a park Sammy often frequented.

Before the girls' bodies were found, Dean pulled Sammy from school, called dad to tell him he’d found a vampire hunt two states over, and packed their belongings. They left Bozeman and Sammy’s crimes behind as Dean drove out of town in the predawn hour.

Sammy had asked what the rush was and Dean just shrugged him off. "That city was full of bad news. You start back at school in month. I thought we could find a better school for my brainiac little brother.” Sammy gave Dean a toothy, dimpled smile and Dean cranked up the radio, hoping to drown out his thoughts.

The girls were found two months later, buried in a shallow grave just outside Livingston. Dean once again hacked the coroner’s report and was relieved to find there were no signs of cut hair. However, the coroner noted the girls’ Ipods had been stolen. When he saw the ligature used to strangle them, headphones from their Ipods, he didn’t read any further. Sammy had been using a new Ipod he said he bought from a pawn shop.

Dean had a brief, hysterical moment where he wondered if Sammy had downloaded music of his own or kept what the girls had loaded. When he heard Sammy humming along to a Taylor Swift song, he had his answer.

Luckily, police reports from both crime scenes found no identifying evidence and they had no suspects.

Dean erased the files from his computer and starting looking for signs that Sammy was going to kill again.

Sammy was in the middle of his senior year when Dean caught the scent. Sammy had been acting agitated, restless and hostile. During a sparring session, Sammy stopped pulling his punches and knocked Dean on his ass. Then he followed Dean to the ground, flipped Dean over on his stomach, and pinned his arms over his head.

Sammy was hard, his erection rubbing into Dean’s ass between their thin sweatpants.

Sammy began to hump Dean in earnest, alternating his strokes between steady and stuttered.

As he picked up his pace he whispered, “One day soon I'm going to fuck your tight ass. I’m going to split you open on my cock and won’t stop until you're begging me to let you come.” Sammy groaned, stilled his hips and filled his sweatpants with come. Dean felt the wetness between his cheeks but was too stunned to respond.

Sammy got up and went to the bathroom to clean himself up. Dean went to the bedroom to change into jeans, his still hard cock trapped beneath the zipper. Later that night, Dean replayed the scene over in his mind as he stripped his cock raw in the shower. He got out, looked at his reflection in the foggy mirror, and threw up his dinner in the toilet.

Sammy killed three days later. A middle aged man, Michael Benton, was beat to death outside a local gym. Security tape caught the back of the killer, a tall man, 6 feet at least, and Dean noted with anxiety, wearing Dean’s favorite sweatshirt. Later that night Sammy came home and gave Dean a silver ring. Dean put it on a finger on his right hand and Sammy smiled like he won the lottery.

Dean never took the ring off.

Dad came back the next week and they packed up again, heading for a hunt Dean had no interest in. He was more concerned about the monster closer to home.

Sammy got his acceptance letter to Stanford three months later. He celebrated by pushing Dean to his knees, pulling out his cock and fucking Dean’s face until he came down his throat. Later he brought Dean a popsicle for his sore throat and Dean ran to the bathroom to take care of his aching hardon.

They never spoke about Sammy’s kills, never addressed Sammy’s sexual advances. Dean continued to get on his knees whenever Sammy demanded it, and Dean wondered if the killings would stop once he reached Palo Alto.

Sammy and Dad got into a fight when Sammy told him he was leaving. Dad punched Sammy in the face and Sammy broke dad’s arm. When Sammy put a knife to their dad’s throat, Dean grabbed him by the arm and pulled him off. The look of terror on their dad’s face was the first time Dean thought he might have a clue about what Sammy was.

That night dad went to a bar and Sammy fucked Dean into the mattress. He was gone the next morning before Dean woke up.

Dean kept an eye out for unsolved murders in and around Palo Alto. For the first year Sammy was gone, there was nothing. By Sammy’s second year, two coeds had gone missing and a professor was found in his apartment, throat slashed, eyes gouged out. Police had no leads and no suspects.

Dean continued to hunt with his father.

Every couple of months Sammy would mail Dean some random token to his safety deposit box in Kansas City. A book of poetry by Fernando Pessoa, a necklace with the world’s ugliest pendant, a box of cigars even though Dean didn’t smoke, and a knife coated in something that suspiciously looked like blood. Sammy would write the same thing on the back of an envelope.

“Are you ready to join me?”

The front of the envelope had an address on it, though it wasn’t the one where Sammy was living.

Dad got injured on a hunt. The ghost of an opera singer threw him through a plate glass window, two stories up. He broke a leg and his dislocated arm was in a sling.

There was a hunt in San Jose that couldn’t wait, and dad sent Dean by himself.

The hunt turned out to be a series of murders disguised to look like monster attacks. The only clue Dean had that it was Sammy was the short bits of verse left at each crime scene.

A body of a man in his early twenties, a junky by the looks of the tracks on his arms.

“It happens that I am tired of being a man.  
It happens that I go into the tailor’s shops and the movies  
all shriveled up, impenetrable, like a felt swan  
navigating on a water of origin and ash.”

-Pablo Neruda

At the body of a woman in her early thirties with bleached blond hair and a worn out look on her too thin frame.

“death has the smile like the nicest man you’ve never met  
who maybe winks at you in the streetcar and you pretend  
you don’t but really you do see and you are My how  
glad he winked and hope he’ll do it again”

-e. e. cummings

A woman found hanging upside down, her throat slashed with a bucket beneath her to catch the flow.

“Anyone wanting to make a catalogue of monsters would need only to photograph in words the thing that night brings to somnolent souls who cannot sleep.”

-Fernando Pessoa

Dean read these things and had one thought. _Fucking college kids._

He pulled out the envelop he kept in his wallet and entered the address into his phone.

The building turned out to be a dilapidated warehouse, and Sammy met him on the loading dock in the back.

“How did you know I was coming,” Dean asked.

“Why did you take so long,” Sammy replied.

Dean took in Sammy’s body, a recent growth spurt making him well over 6 feet, taller than Dean. He wore worn out jeans and a Stanford hoodie, his hair longer than the military cut dad always insisted on. He looked tan, healthy. Happy. There was no outward sign of the psychopath within.

“Did you bring me here to kill me,” Dean asked.

“Did you come here to die,” Sammy replied. His face lit up with a playful smirk.

“No. I came here for you.”

Sammy nodded, satisfied.

“Come,” Sammy said, gesturing to the stairs at the edge of the dock. “We have work to do.”

Dean followed Sammy into the building, stayed behind him as he led him to a room in the back.

There was a blonde girl strapped to the table, mouth covered with duct tape. An array of knives covered a counter nearby.

“Pretty cliche having a kill room in an abandoned warehouse, Sammy.” Dean said with a smile.

Sammy smiled, motioned for Dean to come in and grabbed Dean’s hand, pulling him next to the girl.

“Dean, I’d like to introduce you to my girlfriend, Jess.” Sammy nodded toward the panicked girl. “Jess, this is Dean. The love of my life.”

The duct tape covering her mouth kept Jess from replying but the way her eyes widened and looked toward Dean, Dean surmised she knew who he was. Sammy’s older brother.

Sammy pushed Dean closer to the table, placing Dean between the girl with Sammy at his back.

Sammy put his arms around Dean, pulled him back against his chest, and began to nuzzle his neck.

“I knew you would come. It took you too long,” Sammy scolded.

“I’m still not sure why I’m here,” Dean replied.

“Maybe you missed me,” Sammy said, kissing and biting Dean’s neck. Dean tilted his head to the side to give him better access. Sammy put his hands beneath Dean’s shirt and ran his fingers over Dean’s flat stomach.

“Maybe,” Dean said, dropping his head back to rest on Sammy’s shoulder.

“Are you ready,” Sam asked.

“I think so.” Dean put his hands on the button of his jeans, unhooked it and pulled down his zipper. He pulled out his already hardening cock, took Sammy’s hand in his, and wrapped Sammy’s fingers around his stiff length.

“Make me come, Sammy. Please make me come.” Dean begged.

Sammy groaned and tightened his fingers.

“Finally,” he said as he began to stroke. “All you ever had to do was ask. Why did you take so long to come to me?”

“I’m not a killer, Sammy,” Dean replied, alternating between pushing himself into Sammy’s hand and grinding his ass on Sammy’s hard cock.

“No. But you will be.” Sammy picked up the pace, his calloused fingers on Dean’s dry cock causing pleasurable pain.

“For you, Sammy. Anything for you,” Dean panted.

“Beg me again, Dean. Let me hear you. Tell me how much you want this. How much you love it.” Sammy coaxed.

“So much, Sammy. So fucking much. I’ve replayed the scene of you fucking me in my mind again and again.” Dean panted. “Want you in me.”

“Soon,” Sammy soothed, then twisted his wrist just right, sending Dean off into a mind numbing orgasm. He came all over Sammy’s hand and the girl in front of him with a breathless moan.

Jess was crying in earnest now. Her tear stained face flush with fear and disgust. Sammy removed his come soaked hand and slapped her.

“You show my brother some respect,” he yelled. "Every time I fucked you I thought about him. You're just a gift, means to a bloody end.”

The girl flinched and Sammy turned to pick up a knife. He handed it to Dean, whose eyes widened in surprise.

“Me? You want me to kill her,” Dean asked, somewhat panicked himself.

“That’s why you’re here, isn’t it? To join me,” Sammy asked, face cautiously calm.

“Yes. But I’m not like this. Like you. I don’t like to kill.”

“You will,” Sammy replied. Then he ripped the duct tape off of Jess’ mouth.

She immediately began to plead, trying to reason with Sammy, with Dean. She said she didn’t want to die. She had parents and a sister who loved her. She was going to be a doctor.

Sammy slapped her again and said, “Keep talking and I’ll cut your vocal cords. I only took the gag off so Dean could hear you scream.”

Dean blanched, his now soft cock still hanging out of his jeans, the incredibly sharp knife inches from the girl’s body.

“I don’t know if I can do this,” Dean whispered. Fear spreading through him as fast as his dissipated lust. The hand that held the knife trembled.

“Sure you can. Just think of her as another monster you hunt. Except she’s here because she has tragic taste in men.” Sam laughed. Jess whined.

Placing his hand over Dean’s, he guided the knife to the prone girl’s arm. With Sammy controlling Dean’s hand, Sammy made a fast and deep cut along the girl’s forearm. She screamed.

“I thought for your first it would be fun to watch her bleed out. It’s messier but I plan on torching the building when we’re done.”

Jess began to sob. The thick cut turning her white blouse a dark red.

“Start with shallow cuts on her extremities, then we’ll move to her stomach and breasts.”

“Extremities? What the hell is that, college boy?” Dean asked, his voice laced with humor.

“Arms and legs, jerk,” Sammy smiled.

“You could have just said that, bitch.” Dean removed his hand from Sammy’s hold and looked at the frightened girl. There was something to be said about the beautiful way she cried. She looked so alive, a direct contrast to the direction all this was headed.

Dean lifted the knife and made a deep cut on her other arm. She screamed again, a shrill, irritating sound. If Sammy hadn’t made a point that Dean should hear her screams, he would have gagged her again.

Dean made two swift cuts to her legs and after that it became somewhat of an art project. Each new cut bleeding into her clothes in a macabre tableau. 

Sammy seemed pleased with Dean’s progress, occasionally offering advice and encouragement, while he rubbed his hand over Dean’s back, reaching down to stroke Dean’s cock.

Dean was getting hard again. The more Jess cried, the harder he got. Maybe there was something to this.

After an hour or so of cutting her arms and legs, stomach and breasts, Sammy stilled Dean’s hands and grabbed a knife of his own.

“I get to do her face,” he said. “I’ve thought of little else since the stupid bitch hit on me in class.” With that, Sammy began to cut thin stripes on her cheeks, forehead and lips.

Jess didn’t stop screaming and her tears mixed with the blood to run down her chin and neck, further staining her white blouse. It was breathtaking.

“Ok,” Sammy said, a bit breathless himself. “Time for the death blow. Stomach wounds are painful and it takes a while to die from them. Stab her liver.”

Dean hesitated for only a moment, then brought his knife down just over her liver in a hard, piercing thrust. 

Sammy grabbed Dean’s face and gave him a bruising kiss, then turned Dean once again toward the body.

“I hoped you prepped yourself,“ Sammy whispered. “Otherwise this is going to hurt.”

“I did,” Dean said, pushing his jeans down around his ankles and leaning over to rest his elbows and hands on the girl’s body.

Blood soaked Dean’s shirt. Sammy pushed his own pants down, spread Dean’s ass and pushed his cock into Dean’s hole. “I’ve missed this so fucking much.”

“Me too,” Dean replied, pushing down on Sammy as Sammy pressed in.

Both men moaned as Sammy bottomed out.

Jess continued to struggle for breath, blood seeping from various wounds starting to clot.

Sammy began a brutal pace, stroking Dean’s cock hard and fast.

The movement knocked Dean further forward and his elbows caused more blood to gush from Jess’ wound. She was no longer screaming, now only wheezing moans.

“So fucking hot, Dean. You’re so fucking hot. Covered in blood, hanging off my dick. I should keep you like this,” Sammy moaned.

“Please, Sammy. Please. More. Harder.

“I am, baby. Be a good boy and take what I’m giving you.”

Dean panted, desperate for relief. His balls tightening with every deep thrust.

“When I come you’re going to come with me.”

“Yes, Sammy. Anything. Yes.” Dean breathed.

Dean felt Sammy pulse inside him, and Dean quickly followed, his orgasm so much more intense than the first one. Sammy put his head on Dean’s shoulders and tried to catch his breath.

“I knew you’d be beautiful like this.” Sammy slowly removed his cock and took off his shoes, jeans and hoodie.

Jess was in the last moments of her life, her eyes vacant and resigned.

“Take your clothes off,” Sammy instructed. “We’ll burn them with the body.”

Dean obeyed and took a bottle of water Sammy proffered.

“Drink a little and use the rest to wash off as much blood as you can.”

Dean nodded and did as he was told.

Sammy picked up the lighter fluid he had left out with his knives and doused Jess’ body. She barely flinched at the burn. Dean watched her face, eager to see her last moments. With a last shuddered exhale, she died. Jess, Sammy’s girlfriend, was no more.

Sammy packed up his knives and kissed Dean on the mouth. “You did great. I can’t wait to do this again.” 

Dean thought he resembled a puppy, an eager, happy, psychotic puppy. Dean's smile faded when he looked back at the dead girl, his stomach filling with dread, as the enormity of what they'd just done sunk in. They murdered someone. _Dean murdered someone._

Sammy, reading Dean’s expression, took Dean’s hand in his. “It’s going to be fine. You were amazing. Everything will be alright. I’ve gotten away with a lot more murders than the ones you know about.”

Dean nodded. “Ok, Sammy. I trust you.”

“I know you do,” Sammy said and kissed Dean’s forehead. “Let’s set this bitch on fire and go out for pie.”

“Pie?” Dean replied, excitedly. Then, looking at his unclothed state, said, “We can’t go get pie when we’re naked.

Sammy laughed, full and deep. “I have clothes for us in the car. We can transfer my shit to the Impala and ditch the stolen one.”

“Ok, bitch. Let’s torch this place and get some pie.”

Sammy smiled a dimpled grin and Dean felt lighter than he had in years. As the fires consumed the building behind them, Sammy grabbed Dean’s hand and laced their fingers together.

Sammy liked to kill and that was ok with Dean.


End file.
